


Follow the Light

by Pacifia



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Angst, Deductions, Gen, Mystery, Poisoning, Suspense, running out of time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:01:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27228514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pacifia/pseuds/Pacifia
Summary: "That he needs to be in the right mind when the assassination happens. He knows something," said Peter.
Relationships: Edmund Pevensie & Peter Pevensie
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	1. Part I

_A gust of wind swirled past the trees, the leaves flew, forming a small hurricane. They soon settled down and the backyard was calm again. But the silence was shattered—much to Edmund's displeasure—when a certain worried big brother came shouting out of the backdoor, bellowing Edmund's name with his hands around his mouth, cupping them to allow his voice to echo and grow in amplitude. Peter obviously didn't know that's what he was doing. But Edmund did. Edmund knew a lot. His feet were dangling, his lips giving a soft whistle—clueing Peter as to where he was. But the unobservant lummox never looked up. Edmund sighed._

_"Up here, Peter! I'm up here!" he said, and his brother gazed up. His expression of relief twisted into one showing sheer horror as he realized that his six-year-old brother was perched atop a high branch._

_"Stay there! I'll—How did you even get there?" Peter asked, running to and fro, panicking. His breaths were ragged now, he was gasping, close to hyperventilating, Edmund had heard the doctors say._

_"Peter! Pete, look up!" Edmund said. Peter did, still struggling to properly breathe. Edmund smiled and tossed him his detective storybook, saying, "Catch!" Peter did, subconsciously, but his eyes were fixed on the book for a moment. He'd been distracted. And Edmund smiled to see him blink at the book and his breathing slowly return back to normal. Then Peter looked up again but before he could start panicking again, Edmund said, "Get dad!" Peter only stared at first, his flustered mind taking a moment to decipher the words. Then he blinked and nodded._

_"Yes, I will. Don't move, Eddie! I'll be right back!"_

_Edmund smiled when Peter rushed back the way he'd come. Then he hopped down the branch, clinging like a monkey from the trunk. He slid down, loosening his grip on the trunk's surface. And within seconds, his feet were on the ground. He rubbed his hands together, brushing off the dust, and then waited for his brother to come dashing out of the backdoor, still panicked because Dad had refused to come. Daddy knew Edmund knew how to climb; after all, he'd taught him. And just as Edmund had predicted, Peter hurried out, his face wet with tears. Oh. Edmund felt guilty now. But then Peter looked up. And for the first time, Edmund couldn't read his face. Surprise? Relief? Joy? But then Peter clenched his jaw and was slowly walking towards him. And Edmund knew. Anger._

* * *

"No," Peter said, shoving away the _dress_ Susan had pressed to his chest. Peter edged away from his frowning sister and said, "Absolutely not, Susan. That is a _dress._ A dress. A _dress!_ Do I need to say more? Just give it to Lucy, she'll like it." Susan walked to him and brought the hanger to his neck. She straightened the _dress,_ ridding it of the wrinkles by pulling it down by its hem. She looked up at him.

"It's a Tunic, Peter. A traditional Tunic. From King Gale's time. And since it's the anniversary of the conquering of the Lone Islands, it's necessary that we celebrate King Gale's heritage. Edmund didn't complain!"

"But you didn't make him wear a dress! His didn't have laces on it!" Peter protested, glancing with disgust at the flurrying laces that lined the middle of the _dress,_ hiding its buttons. "It's even embroidered!" he said, pointing accusingly at the Lion sewed on the chest-pocket. Peter exhaled heavily, grabbing his sister's shoulders. "I'm the High King, Susan. I can't come looking out as feminine, you know. Just have Lucy wear it. She said she liked it." Susan scowled, giving him a glare that made Peter internally wince. She'd just promised him revenge. Then she smiled a nice smile.

"Of course, Peter. Don't be late, please," she said and then was gone, leaving him alone in his chambers. Peter sighed, feeling relieved now that the haunting dress had left him. Peter fell onto his bed. It was a winter day, bleak and breezy. The sea's crashing waves gave rippling vibrations to the air, singing a sweet tune, the cries of flustered servants to catch Prince Corin made Peter smile, the dryads' giggles and gossips and admiring comments about the two Kings of Narnia made him feel flattered, and the door shooting open to reveal a put off dark-haired little brother made him frown. He stood up.

"What is it?"

Edmund clamped the door shut behind him. "Take the dress back."

"Why?"

"Susan wants me to wear it! I'm not wearing it, so take it back."

"No," Peter said simply. He'd expected Edmund to make a retort, or give him his melting look, or a deadly glare. But he sighed instead and his hands reached down his pocket. He pulled out a parchment; it flapped in the cold wind rushing in through the balcony. Peter cocked one eyebrow, giving his brother a questioning look. Edmund glanced at the smaller, western balcony, nodding at it. The brothers hopped over the ledge and then jumped down to the other side. In sync, too. Edmund pulled the two chairs closer—Peter had no idea why or how they were there. And then placed the table in the middle. Then he spread the parchment—which was now revealing itself to be some sort of a map—over the table. Peter stared impassively at it.

"What is this?" he asked.

Edmund gave the cliché answer. "A map."

"No, I mean, a map of what?"

Edmund who was studying the map he must be familiar with by now, said, "Winding Arrow." He looked at his brother who was still confused. "Winding Arrow is just south of Anvard. Easy to reach from there." Then he looked down at the map again, tracing its surface with his finger until he reached a mark on the southern bank of the river, a little west of another mark on the same bank. "See this?" Peter nodded, intrigued now. "Now on the north bank," he said, tracing up to the north bank. Two more identical marks. "What do you see, Peter?"

"Four marks. The same distance from each other. Uh…a square," Peter said, looking up at Edmund again.

"That's what I and Dracus thought, too. But it—"

Peter's cough interrupted Edmund's sentence. "You and Dracus?"

"Yeah. I trust him with my life, Peter. It's—Oh, come on! You're jealous? You were busy with your silly suitors so I thought to go to Dracus!" Edmund defended himself, shrugging.

"Yes, yes, of course," Peter said, looking unpleased. "You were saying?"

"Right. We thought it was a square, too. We researched in the library, flipped through thousands of books. Searching for a square on a river. We had to clean up after, too. Sunstone wouldn't let us leave. Anyway—"

"Wait. Where did you find this?" Peter asked, looking down at the map.

Edmund licked his lips. "It was a message. Intended for someone else. We found it by accident. Okay, not by accident. Lord Lanin told me to give it Lord Barrin a week ago when we had to attend Susan's ball. I might have, you know, taken a peek."

"You what? Edmund, that's humiliating! You're a King. Not a common thief!"

"But I didn't steal! I just memorized where the marks were, gave the original map to Lord Barrin, and drew the marks on an identical map. Now, listen." Peter crossed his arms but felt inclined to listen indeed. "We found nothing in the five days. Then I wondered what if it's not a square at all. But an X."

"An X? Like in the pirate treasure stories? Edmund, please, you've been wasting my time. I—"

"Sit. Down," Edmund ordered, glaring at him. Peter sighed, untangled his arms, and sat back down on the small chair. "Now, listen. Without interrupting me every other second. So, I and Dracus searched through more books, looking for an X over a river. But nothing again. It was obvious, that's not what the clue meant. So I decided to think deep. Think, Peter, if it's not in the books, not written somewhere, what could it mean?"

"Edmund, have you been reading your Detective stories again? Oh, I hate this phase you go through when you do. Please, just take some of the medicine Mrs Beaver offered and—"

"Peter?"

"Yes?" Peter asked, raising his brows.

"Shut up! And please, just listen! I thought the message might be practical, you know? Because the bottleheads that the Lords are, they couldn't have thought of anything more intricate. Now, a cross indicates a target, doesn't it? So, I sent Chirp to Winding Arrow."

"I'm sorry, you sent my best _northern_ scout to Winding Arrow? Blue-jays can't fly that far!"

"I sent an eagle to aid him. He was really excited about it. Now, Chirp and the eagle searched the river for any clues. They found naught. At first."

"Oh, for Aslan's sake, Edmund, just get to the point!"

"Well, they found a box. Right where the two imaginary lines of the X would meet. And in it, there was a letter. It was fortunate that the eagle could read. And as you know, eagles have a great memory. He memorized the whole letter and recited as it was to me. They'd, of course, put the original back into the box." Edmund then pulled out a small piece of paper, rough around the edges. He offered it to Peter. "Read it."

Peter took the letter from him. And read.

After three minutes and going over the letter four times, he said, "Oh, Ed. Edmund, this is—"

"This will destroy Su's party," Edmund said, standing up. He jumped out of the balcony, and back into the room. "But not if we can stop Lord Barrin before it's too late."

Peter nodded and followed his brother back into the room. "This is disastrous, Edmund. We need to tell him."

"No. Then we won't catch Lord Barrin red-handed. And that means a lot of work to prove he's guilty." As he said this, Edmund was slowly walking towards the door. Reaching it and turning the knob, he said, "And Peter, please take the dress back. Briella is coming."

Peter huffed. "You're lucky, Edmund. Really lucky." He sighed. "I'll take it back."

"Thank you!"

* * *

Shining laughter. Flapping curtains. The tempting buffet. Scented flowers. The sweetest tunes. And the softest melody. Dryads were singing, standing on the dais in the eastern corner. The lords and ladies were engaged in casual chatters, filling themselves with the traditional Narnian food. Most guests were gathered around the buffet which was decorated with all kinds of food items. The traditional honeyed toast, roasted meat, Susan's cookies, the richest wine in all of the north, and upon Lucy's insistence, chocolate. His eyes turned to his sisters. Lucy was dancing with Dracus, both laughing gleefully—probably amused by one of Lucy's old jokes. Susan was dancing with Prince Corin; Peter smiled, seeing how his sister had had to pick the Prince up in order to dance comfortably. Peter almost got up from his throne when Susan's shawl slid down her arm. But Corin picked it for her. He breathed out, settling back on his throne.

"You might as well dance, you know," came a frustrated voice from his right. Peter was rather startled to find Edmund sitting on his throne. Peter rolled his eyes. His brother moved as silent as the night and as swift as a cat. Invisible if he wanted to be. "There's a line of beautiful ladies, all waiting. Wondering if you'd ask one of them for a dance. But you, of course, won't. So the more desperate ones, the one standing in the front, will ask you themselves. See that tall Calormene lady? She's the most desperate. Red wine used to polish her lips, nails manicured, hair loose even though Tarkheenas prefer to have them tied up. And the Galman duchess. She—"

"Edmund?"

"Yeah?"

"You're doing it again, you know. Just shut up."

"What do you mean I'm doing it again? What is it that I do?" Edmund asked, blinking at his brother. Peter sighed.

"You read those old Detective novels of yours and do _this!_ Become one yourself. I hate when you do this."

"I haven't been reading any novels! I'm a King, Peter. I don't have the time, as much as I wish I did," Edmund added silently, sighing.

"Liar."

"I'm sorry?"

"I found one under your pillow last night."

Edmund blinked. "You broke into my room?"

"I had a nightmare. I had to check," Peter said, rubbing his neck sheepishly.

"You—you had a nightmare so you decided to just break into my private chambers in the middle of the night and stare at me while I slept?"

"Yes."

"You're an idiot."

"It was a really horrifying nightmare!" Peter exclaimed, suppressing a shudder. He took some shuddering breaths. "She cut your throat," he said, voice thick with unshed tears. He cleared his throat, looking back at the party, trying to bring back the balance. He wiped his eyes. Edmund stared at him for a moment, opened his mouth and then shut it again.

He sighed. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't—I didn't know. Please, I really am."

Peter gave a shaky nod. "Yeah, I know. Dracus doesn't seem to be so concerned that someone is going to murdered tonight," he said, glancing at the Knight who was still dancing with Lucy; he swept her off her feet and then put her down again, making her giggle.

"That's because he doesn't know," Edmund said. Peter turned to him, bewildered. "I trust him with my life, Peter. But I don't trust him with yours." Edmund smiled. "You're my brother. And nothing could change that."

Peter wiped his eyes again. "Alright, no need to get all emotional. How are we going to stop Barrin then?"

Edmund exhaled heavily. "I don't know."

* * *

_A six-year-old Peter skittered down the stairs, hands on hips, and features distorted by a pout. He approached his dad who was reading the newspaper, and watching the telly when a piece of particular intriguing news came up. Peter liked the old man on the telly. He told him jokes. But the matter at hand was important, so he hopped on Dad's lap, making him giggle. Dad folded the newspaper and set it down on the table. He stroked his hair._

_"What is it, Pete?"_

_"He took my book! Ed took it and mum didn't even scold him!" Peter complained, looking up at his father. "It's not fair! Mum always scolds me when I take Susan's dolls! Why didn't she scold Ed?"_

_"Because he's younger than you, Peter," Dad said, tickling his neck. Peter chuckled but then turned grim again, crossing his arms. "What book did he take?"_

_"The one with the…the…detectives!"_

_"You got it right this time, chap!"_

_"And he's not even three yet, not before October! He can't even read!"_

_"Oh, Pete, do you know why your brother takes your things?" Peter shook his head, confused. "How about you go ask him, eh? You'll be surprised." Peter crossed his arms again._

_"But I'm not talking to him. I told him I hate him!"_

_"And what did he tell_ you?"

_Peter gulped. "He said he loves me."_

_"Do you see now?"_

* * *

Now, this is what the letter said, and this is what Edmund's been playing in his mind for the last twenty-four hours, looking for a clue, a mistake:

_My dear Lord, it is I who writes this, your most loyal servant, and ever well-wisher, Lord Lanin. Your wish, among us, is well-known. Though dark, the wish is justified. After all, the King murdered your brother, sank his ship, and drowned dear Lord Bar, his body lost forever to us. And since it is I, Lanin, who presents you with this knowledge and opportunity to finally achieve your objective of killing the cruel King, I do wish you would gift me with a trivial part of your riches. But it is a decision that is entirely up to you, my Lord._

_It is this: Narnia, as you may have heard, is celebrating the six-hundredth anniversary of the conquer of their Lone Islands. Gale the seventh King of Narnia conquered it in the light of the moon, their ships came at night, their nests glinting in the shine. Bows in hand, the King's men jumped down the ship and swam to the shores of Avra. They shot the arrows at the sign their King gave them, leaving those who were innocent, and killing those who resisted. And they won, my Lord. They won not because their numbers were greater and they were armed. But because they were clever. And they used the light as a guide. Let the light guide you, too, my Lord. Now, Queen Susan the Gentle of Narnia is hosting a grand party on the occasion, and it is known that King Lune, his son, and his most trusted lords, including you, dear Lord, will be invited to the Castle of Cair Paravel. Now, this, my Lord, is the opportunity you have been yearning for seven years. Have your revenge, my Lord. Praise your loyal servant with a share of your large wealth, if you wish. But have your revenge._

_Lord Lanin_

"Edmund?"

Edmund was started. But he stayed in his place. He turned and blinked at his brother. "What is it, Peter?"

"You don't have a plan?"

"Other than have King Lune surrounded by seven guards at all times—" Edmund said, glancing at Lune. He struggled past the cheetah and the two leopards walking beside him to get to the buffet. Chocolate seemed to please him. "—I don't have a plan, no. Do you?"

"You're the detective," Peter said cheekily. "Where's Briella? I've been wearing this stupid dress for her, haven't I?" Peter asked, squinting through the crowd, squirming, feeling the dress' uncomfortable surface grate over his skin and make it itch. When Edmund didn't reply, Peter knew he shouldn't have asked. "Ed?"

"She's sick," Edmund said, sighing. "She can't come."

"But she's here? In the Castle?"

"Yes, in the guest chambers. She's sleeping."

"Then go to her, you idiot," Peter said.

"Not when we have to keep King Lune alive. It's alright, Peter. I don't really care. I can't. We're not just Kings, Pete. We're knights, sworn to protect Narnia. I'm not looking for a girl I can marry. And neither are you."

Peter blinked at his brother and then swallowed. "When did you get so mature?"

Edmund smiled at him. "Learnt from the best. Now, you've read the letter. Tell me what you think of it."

"I don't know. It was just to tell Barrin of the party." Edmund scoffed. "What? Did I say something wrong?"

Edmund turned to him, his crown glinting sharply, making Peter blink. "Do you think Barrin wouldn't already know? Of course, he knew, Peter. And why hide the letter in the Winding Arrow where only the one who has the map can find it? It holds something of importance, Pete. Something in code. We just don't understand yet."

"But you said they were bottleheads!"

"I was wrong. I can be wrong, too, you know."

"Oh, shut up," Peter said. "Where's the letter? We should have a look at it again."

"I burned it."

"You what?"

"I've memorized it, Peter. There was no need for it. It would just serve as evidence."

"Evidence? Edmund, we're not the ones who want to kill King Lune."

Peter didn't think Edmund had heard him; his eyes were squinting through the crowd. He pointed at Susan. No, the Lord beside Susan, the one with the great beard. "See him?" Peter nodded. "He's sweating."

"What? How can you possibly tell that from here?"

"See how he's adjusting his collar? It means his neck is itching. And why would it itch unless he's sweating? He's biting his nails. A clear sign of nervousness. And he hasn't even touched the wine. What does that tell you?"

"That he needs to be in the right mind when the assassination happens. He knows something."

"Exactly. I've already signaled Dracus." And Peter's eyes wavered to the Knight, moving swiftly through the crowd towards the bearded Lord. Silverblade grabbed a glass of wine from the table as he went. And then bumped into Susan, stumbled forwards, and deliberately spilled the wine onto the Lord's royal tunic. He was now babbling loudly about how it was his father's and he'd just spoiled a very precious piece of clothing. Judging by how Dracus was bowing, Peter could say he was apologizing. Then the Knight led the man out of the Great Hall, probably taking him for a change of clothes.

"That was clever. Wait. How did you signal him?"

"Birds, Peter, birds."

"Oh. I thought you had a secret code or something. You never made a code with me."

"Peter! What did I tell you only minutes ago?"

"Right. Sorry. So, he knows now?"

"He didn't ask. But I told him. It was necessary," Edmund told him, turning to the party again. He waved back at Lucy. "I reckon you have about thirty seconds before the Tarkheena asks you to dance with her."

"Wh—"

"So, listen carefully. You'll accept. Accept, Peter. And you'll try to get as close to Barrin as possible. Get on his nerves. Talk about his brother. He's bound to spill something."

"Spill something—"

"But leave within ten minutes. I need you to give a speech. And besides, you're not safe with him."

"Edmund, I'm—"

"—perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, I know. But it's my duty to protect you and I'm not going to risk it. Here she comes! Accept!"

Peter coughed once and straightened his back, feigning a look of pleasantness when the Tarkheena approached him. She bowed and offered him her hand. He stood up and knelt before her, kissing her slender hand. He smiled up at her, and she urged him to get up. He did, still smiling. He reckoned his cheeks would hurt a lot after all this was over. Even through the dark-chocolate skin, Peter could see the pink rushing to the Tarkheena's cheeks.

"Uh, High King Peter, I—"

"Will you please me with a dance, milady?"

The lady gaped at first. And then blinked, clearing her throat. "Uh, yes, please. Thank you, Majesty. Come." And she grabbed his arm, leading him forward through the crowd. He looked back once to find Edmund wink at him. _Clever,_ he mouthed. Peter couldn't help but smile.

* * *

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._ That's all he could hear amidst so many dancing couples. Step forward. Step left. Step backward. Lift her up—even though she's heavy. Grab her waist. Pull her close. Step back again. Avoid her sandals at all costs. Peter clasped her hand more tightly, continuing the dance. He smiled, pulling her thin figure closer, making her blush and look down at her dancing feet. Peter led the dance, each move synced with the rhythm. You could say he'd been practicing. It was Susan's orders, of course. _Tap,_ said the floor as he once again stepped forward, catching her as she fell back.

"Oh," she said, breathing heavily. Peter pulled her up. Swung her about by her waist. And then left her, smiling.

"It's been a pleasure, lady. Have something, please. I must now go eat. My sisters tell me I'm getting thinner."

"Oh, hardly, High King. You look perfectly."

Peter smiled again and then stomped to the buffet. He wasn't lying. He really was hungry. He picked a dish, admiring its shining marble surface and fetched himself some of the meat. The rich smell of oil was making him breathe in. He savoured it. Then sat down on one of the tables, ready to finally eat something. He licked his lips, breathing in again. He tucked the edge of the handkerchief under his collar and grabbed the knife and fork. And he cut the meat, the juicy smell filling the air. He plunged his fork into the cut piece and—

"King Edmund says—"

"Ah!" Peter screamed, startling away from the voice. He glanced around thrice before finally finding the owner of the voice. Chirp. Perched in the middle of the table, shifting from one foot to the other, craning his little neck at him. Peter was thankful he hadn't eaten yet. He'd have surely choked. And all because Edmund can't think of a more discreet way to send messages. "Chirp. You almost startled the life out me. What is it?"

"King Edmund says you can eat later. And he said…" Chirp hesitated, meaning it was an insult. "He said…"

"Never mind, Chirp. I understand. Tell him the same, will you?"

Chirp gave a quick nod and flapped his wings. Before flying away, he squeaked, "He said you're gaining weight!"

Peter's eyes widened when he realized he'd said that aloud and now all the guests were staring at him. He cleared his throat, leaving the table. Everyone turned away. But Peter's face was still red with embarrassment. He was certainly going to kill his brother tonight. His eyes scanned the crowd. Lords and ladies all chattering away. Couples dancing in the slow music the dryads were playing. King Lune sighing when the leopards insisted to stay with him. Corin laughing in Susan's lap. And they he spotted him. Barrin, drinking wine from a golden goblet, hovering in one shadowy corner, leaning against the tapestried wall. Peter was already walking towards him when a gentle hand grabbed his. He blinked and turned to see his littlest sister.

"Lucy. What are you—?"

"Dracus left some time ago. Dance with me? Please?"

"But I can't, dearest sister. There is something I need to—"

But Lucy persisted, her grip on his arm tightening. "Pleaaasee, Peter! Susan's got Corin. I need a partner. Please!"

"Lu, please, you must understand. I have to—" Peter tried struggling past her, looking back at Barrin.

"Peter, please!"

But he was gone.

"Peter!"

"Lucy, I said _no!"_

Lucy flinched away. And Peter instantly hated himself. He momentarily shut his eyes, breathing deeply. He cupped her face, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Lu. But I can't dance with you. I have important stuff to deal with. I—I need to find Ed."

She nodded, trembling. "I understand." And then she sprinted away. Peter could hear her sobs. Oh, he hated himself for this!

But he needed to find Edmund. Because Lord Barrin was gone. And that meant whatever was going to happen was going to happen _now_. He turned to the dais on which their thrones were built. All four were empty. And Edmund—

Peter glanced around, desperate to find his brother. They didn't have enough time. It was all spinning, the faint mutters dizzying him, time running out, drowning in the pressure.

"Edmund!" he bellowed.

And it was followed by a horrible scream. Lucy's voice. _No, no, no._ Peter panicked.

 _"Lucy!"_ he screamed, pushing past the crowd that had gathered in the middle of the hall. Whispers reached him. Whispers that were saying it was a terrible loss. "Lucy, no!"

There was blood under his feet, Lucy was still screaming at a body. An arrow was protruding out of it, the eyes filled with pain open and staring, and red lips covered in blood. Peter didn't know what to feel. Relief that it wasn't his sister who was lying dead in a pool of her own blood. Or sorrow for his brother who was blinking at the body. Almost in disbelief.

Peter was trembling, but he took shaking steps towards his brother. He stroked his cheek, urging him to look away. "Ed?"

"We need to find Barrin," Edmund said, turning to him.

"Edmund—"

"He did this. We need to find him. Now. And find Dracus. Come on, Peter," he said, grabbing his wrist. He led him through the crowd, towards the door.

As they left the Hall, Lucy's heartbreaking scream echoed, _"Briella!"_


	2. Part II

As soon as Peter left, Edmund whistled, signalling Chirp to come to him. He needed to see how Dracus was doing. But then Edmund's eyes wavered to the crowd and he saw Peter _eating._ Eating? On the night of a murder? Edmund shook his head in disappointment and told Chirp to carry a message to his older brother. Adding an extra, unnecessary comment. Because he deserved it. Then the blue-jay flew away, looking a little uncertain about the message. Edmund, who was pleased with himself, shut his eyes, leaning back on his throne. Thinking.

 _Gale the seventh King of Narnia conquered it in the light of the moon._ It made no sense. Why talk about the conquering of the Lone Islands in so much detail if there isn't any code? But there was. Edmund just couldn't see it yet. He rubbed his temples. _Leaving those who were innocent, and killing those who resisted._ Who resisted? Meaning enemies? Meaning King Lune? No. He already knew that. _Let the light guide you, too, my Lord._ Now, this, this was clearly a message. Let the light guide you. _But which light?_ _The light of the moon._ Edmund smacked his head. It was obvious, wasn't it? They'd use the moon as a signal. However—

Edmund glanced out the large Northern balcony. The glass doors were open, but no moonlight spilt in. Because the sky was cloudy. Dark and shrouded. The moon was hidden, unable to serve as a guide. And they couldn't control the moon, use its light as they wished. And seeing how thick of a blanket the clouds had formed, Edmund doubted the moon would show itself at all today. Edmund sighed. Back to square one, did the books say? Light. Light. Light. It would be a light signalling the assassin. But Orieus hadn't found him yet. Was he here? Among the guests? Or was he hiding somewhere, waiting for the signal, waiting to release an arrow, and orphan poor Corin. No, no, he couldn't let that happen. Think! Edmund breathed in and breathed out and—

Opened his eyes to see Barrin leave silently through the doors. Edmund was already on his feet, shoving past the duchess who'd come to ask him for a dance. Oh, couldn't these ladies leave him alone? He wasn't Peter! He felt sheepish for not apologising for his rude behaviour. But he had to follow Barrin. He held all the answers. He would solve the mystery. But just then, the wind soughed past him, making him shiver, making his skin crawl in fear, because he could sense it. Sense the clouds floating away with the wind. He took some trembling breaths and glanced at the balcony. Silvery moonlight brushed past the gates, sweeping through the crowd, towards the southern dais. The assassin had his signal. But how? How did they—

Edmund had no time. He searched the crowd. Someone with a weapon. Someone with a malicious intent. Someone with murder shining through his eyes. But the loud laughter was dizzying him. The babbles. The stupid chatters. The meaningless gossips. That was all he could hear. The walls were spinning. He couldn't focus. There was no time! He could hear Peter scream his name. He knew, too. Oh, Aslan, he had failed!

"King Edmund!"

But Edmund couldn't look up, he buried his face in his hands, hiding from the screams that he knew would come in a moment.

"King Edmund, please! There's a man on the eastern balcony and he's—"

Edmund's head snapped up. "What did you say, Chirp?" he asked the flying bird.

"A man on the eastern balcony. He has a bow, Majesty. And he doesn't look like a good man. Not like you or King Peter. Please, King Edmund, what must I—"

Chirp's words were cut off as time slowed. Edmund gazed around and found the sneering assassin without much effort. He had an arrow hooked in the string, adjusting the bow, and his grip on. His fingers curled around the wood. And then Edmund looked behind him. King Lune, still surrounded by the cheetahs and leopards and one centaur. Idiot! They hadn't formed a guard around him. The arrow would pierce through him, gone so swiftly that none could even notice. Edmund's mind had worked fast. It eliminated the options that weren't possible solutions and reached the inevitable conclusion. One no one would be pleased with. But it was the best option. The only choice. Edmund turned back to the bird, whose words were now becoming coherent again.

"What must I do, King Edmund? Tell me!"

"Tell Peter that I'm sorry."

"But why?"

"Because I'm probably about to die."

"But—"

"Edmund!"

Edmund's breath caught in his lungs. No. He turned. It was her, waving at him, a smile gracing her beautiful lips. A tear slipped out of his eye. And he sprinted away, towards King Lune. He did not notice that Briella was running after him.

And an arrow was released.

* * *

 _Peter took hesitant steps up the stairs. The step creaked. And he stopped, holding his breath. Why was he so nervous? It was his room, too, after all. He released a long breath and began ascending up the stairs again. With each step, his heart raced faster. But he let the light from the window calm him, lead him, guide him. And he kept going. More trembling breaths. But it was just a simple question! And when finally, he reached the door, he was sure his heart would burst any moment. He turned the knob,_ _his hands shaking. The door opened. And there his brother was, sprawled across_ Peter's _bed, lying on his stomach, chin propped up on palms, legs up and kicking. He seemed oblivious to his presence. Or so Peter thought._

_"Whatever it is, Peter, you can tell me. Or rather, ask me."_

_Peter could only blink at his five-year-old brother at first. He was five! Not a stupid grown-up. Then why did he act like one? He rubbed his arm, both because it was cold and because he was extremely flustered by this prospect. Edmund still hadn't bothered to look up at him. He was dissolved at that detective book._ Peter's _book. And he was wearing Peter's old shirt and swinging Peter's pencil in hand. Peter glanced at Edmund's bed. Why was his brother on_ his _bed? Why did he always have to take his things? Peter gulped and sat down beside his brother, clasping his hands together. Edmund still wouldn't look up at him. Now, Peter was frustrated._

_"Can't you even bother to look up just once, you little brat?"_

_Oh, no. It wasn't supposed to come out that way. Now Ed would tell his father he'd said that. And then—_

_"I'm sorry, Peter. You were saying?" Edmund's voice said. And Peter looked at him; he was sitting upright, back extremely straight, and a wide smile tugging at his lips. He hadn't been offended. And he wouldn't tell Dad. His eyes told him that._

_"I…I wanted to know…why you always take my things," Peter managed to stutter out. "Dad told me to ask, so…"_

_"He told you to ask today?"_

_How did he know? "No, two years ago. But you could hardly speak your name then. So…"_

_"But you did ask me then. And I answered."_

_Peter could only gape._

* * *

"Edmund, you need to talk about this. I know what she meant to you. Please—"

"Don't speak. Don't breathe. Don't think. Just listen," Edmund suddenly said, yanking him forward by his wrist. His brother forced him against the wall, both on either side of the closed door. They pressed their ears to the rough wall, listening. But it was absolutely silent. Not a voice. Not a breath. Peter suddenly realized he was holding his. He took a deep breath and glanced back at his brother.

"Edmund?" Peter whispered.

"Let's go," Edmund said, turning the knob.

"Wh—"

But they were already inside. Peter looked up, surprised to find Barrin waiting for them. He was sliding his ring back and forth on his middle finger, never looking up, seated on the bed. On _Edmund's_ bed. Peter glanced around. They were in his brother's chambers. The walls that were more familiar than his own room's seemed eerie now, bearing long shadows of the flapping curtains. Peter's hand went to Rhindon's hilt, ready to unsheathe it. But Edmund shook his head.

"Ah, clever. Tell me, King Edmund, do you know yet? Have you… _figured it out?"_ the Lord said, pulling out a greyish book. Edmund's book. "Interesting phrases they use. You've written them yourself, haven't you? Drawing from memory. I've heard rumors you're not from this world, the four of you."

"You have failed, Lord Barrin. King Lune is alive. Orieus has locked all gates. You cannot escape. Surrender," Peter said.

"Peter, don't," Edmund warned him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Peter frowned. What did his brother know that he didn't? "So, where is it? The cure?"

_The cure?_

" _Very_ clever, aren't you?" the Lord said, swinging the book in hand. Then he threw it into the fire. Peter's nails dug deep into his hand. "Oh, what a loss," he said, looking at the burning book. "You'll have to write it again now."

"Tell me where it is. _Please."_ That desperate voice. Peter knew that voice. Shattered and cracking with tears his brother refused to show. He was breaking inside. "Please. I'll do anything."

"Edmund?" Peter said, wiping his brother's cheek. "Ed, please, tell me what—"

"Oh, your brother hasn't told you, High King? You do not share his intellect, do you? You haven't figured it out," Barrin said, sliding his ring again. "Let me put it simply, King Peter: You are dying."

The words caught Peter off guard. He blinked. "That's ridicu—"

"Please!" Edmund yelled. "Please, I beg you. Whatever you want, you can have it. Just _give_ it to me."

"Edmund, this is absolutely ridiculous! I'm not dying! I'm—"

 _"Peter!"_ Edmund screamed, catching his brother's body before he could fall to the ground. He laid his gasping brother onto the ground, stroking his cheek, getting him to calm down. "Hush. It's okay. Just focus on my voice, Peter. I know. I know it hurts. But please. Please just hold on."

But Peter couldn't breathe! His chest hurt. Everything was hazed. Blurry figures hovering near. Black spots. He couldn't…he couldn't breathe.

 _"Peter!"_ Edmund cried, scooping up Peter's trembling form, holding his convulsing body close to himself, crushing his gasping figure, trying his hardest to ignore the blood in his mouth. "Peter, hold on! Please!"

"Do you understand now? What I felt when I heard my brother had drowned?" Barrin asked him, circling the brothers, giving them an amused smile. "I died when my brother died, King Edmund. I lived for revenge. And _you_. You took it from me!" he growled, kicking Peter.

"No!" Edmund said, gathering Peter in his lap, shielding his body from the Lord.

"You know, don't you? You know I knew. And you know. Oh, you know it was a trick. One you were too late to understand."

"Please…" Edmund begged, his heart breaking to see Peter jerk upwards and then slump down again, eyes drooping, blood still splattering out. "Please. Pease!" Edmund screamed when Peter convulsed again, struggling to breathe.

"Why should I?"

"Because…because…" Edmund laughed, holding Peter closer.

"You've lost your mind, boy," Barrin said, wrinkling his brows at the laughing King.

"Because, Lord Barrin, you made a terrible mistake."

"And what's that?"

"You left the door open."

* * *

_Peter swallowed, and sat down beside his brother. He feigned a smile and said, "Ed, I wanted to talk to you." The three-year-old (hardly) looked up from his drawing book. He put aside his crayons and smiled an innocent smile, tilting his head. "Why did…why did you take my book?"_

_Edmund said what Peter assumed was the only thing he had yet learned to say, "I love ya, Petah."_

* * *

"Hurry!" Edmund growled, shushing his brother's trembling form. "Dracus, hurry!"

But unknown to Edmund, Dracus was going as fast as he could, searching every pocket, going through even the dying man's boots. But he couldn't find the cure. He swallowed, running his hands through his hair, falling to his knees. "It's not here, Edmund. It's not—"

"His ring!" Edmund said, getting Peter to lie back down again. "It's in his ring!" Peter convulsed again, sucking in air. "That's good, Peter. Just breathe. Breathe. His ring!" Edmund said again, brushing back Peter's damp hair. Dracus furrowed his brows, uncertain. But Edmund didn't bother saying anything more. He just began cradling Peter's now limp body. Dracus pulled the ring off the Lord's finger, only to have his wrist seized by his weak hand. Even with the pain, even with an arrow in his chest, even with the pool of blood on the bed, Barrin's words were clear. And Edmund heard them. Oh, he heard them.

"One last trick."

And he died. Laughing ominously, he died. Dracus spared one second to glance at the man and then dashed to where the brothers were. Dracus passed the ring to Edmund, unable to understand how it could have the cure. A red ruby in the middle, and a plain golden band. It was ordinary. But as soon as Edmund had the ring, he popped the Ruby right off the band. It was hollow. And the space it was hiding beneath barely had three drops of the red salvation. Edmund looked up, eyes seeming like melting chocolate, filled with so many tears. "Get my sisters. _Now."_

And Dracus made another dash to the Great Hall where the Queens were trying to bring balance to the party. Not so much a party now, though. Edmund turned to his brother who'd stopped breathing now. He gave his cheek a loving stroke, resting his forehead on his. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Peter." And he poured the liquid into his blood-filled mouth. He threw the ring into the fire and pulled his brother close to his chest, settling against the foot of the armchair. This hurt. It hurt so much. "You'll forgive me, won't you? Please tell me you'll forgive me," Edmund begged, crying into Peter's shoulder. His heart rejoiced when Peter started breathing again when the warm blood receded down his throat. But his mind—his mind was wiser, refusing to let him have even a second of the false joy. It hurt so much. He coughed, tasting the copper. It really hurt. He smiled at his brother when he opened his eyes, his blue eyes still cloudy and dazed, but relieved.

And when he heard their sisters scream Peter's name, he closed his eyes.

* * *

_"I love you, Peter. That was my answer. It's still my answer."_

_Peter only stared at his brother. Five? Hardly. He looked wiser than Dad right now. And no one was wiser than Dad. "I don't understand what you mean though."_

_"Don't you?"_

* * *

"Ed?" Peter asked when Edmund shut his eyes, head lolling to the cushion of the armchair. Peter sat up, shaking his brother gently, ignoring his sisters who were asking him if he was alright. "Edmund!" he cried when his brother coughed out blood and convulsed. "Ed!" He took his face in his hands, the warm blood filling his palm. "Give him the cordial! Now, Lucy!"

And Lucy had already uncorked the small bottle; she poured a drop into his mouth. And they waited. For seconds, they waited. Susan was sobbing, Dracus holding Lucy as she, too, cried. But Peter kept his eyes fixed on Edmund. He would wake. He just had to. Peter stopped breathing when Edmund opened his eyes. Their sisters were already by his side, clinging to him. Edmund would get a week of fussing now. But his eyes—his eyes still showed pain. Something was wrong. "Ed?" he asked, forehead wrinkling. Edmund blinked and coughed more blood. _No, we saved him!_ Edmund gasped, trying to find his voice. Peter took his hands, clasping them with his own. Edmund gulped, still not having the strength to say anything.

"The light. Follow the light."

And he went still again, hands going limp in Peter's. "Edmund!" he cried, shaking his brother's shoulder. "Wake up! What do you mean?" Peter stood up, letting his sisters sandwich Edmund between them. He began pacing the room, the Narnians formed a circle around him. He turned to Dracus. "What happened with the Lord? Who was he?" He had to start somewhere.

"Lord Lar."

"Lord—Lord Lar? That's impossible. I've seen him. He—"

"He's getting old, Peter. He said he didn't want to do it. But they'd taken his daughter. Threatened to kill her if he didn't cooperate," Dracus told him, voice quavering, eyes refusing to turn to his dying King.

"And what exactly did he do?" Peter asked, swallowing a lump.

"He was the one that poisoned you."

* * *

_"I still don't understand, Ed."_

_"Think deep."_

* * *

"Poisoned—poisoned me? Of course! Ed knew. But how? It doesn't matter. Doesn't matter! Think. Think! Oh, Aslan, please." Peter ran his hands through his hair. His crown fell, Dracus caught it.

"Peter, please!" Susan cried, holding Edmund tightly, sobbing to see him convulse again.

"Don't speak! No one speak!" Peter growled, pacing the room, going back and forth. Back and forth. What was he missing? Lar poisoned him on Barrin's orders. But Edmund—Edmund had been poisoned as well. He turned to Dracus again. "Was I like that? Was it killing me, too?"

"Exactly like that," Dracus said, his throat closing up.

"So, the same poison. Why only one cure? There's never just one. It—"

"Peter?" Dracus asked when Peter's mouth fell open, understanding beginning to dawn on him. "Peter!"

"Edmund, please. Peter, he's not breathing!" Lucy's voice cried. But Peter grabbed Dracus' shoulders, squeezing them, giving him his trust.

"You keep him breathing. Do you understand? Keep him alive until I return."

"But where are you going?" Dracus asked, falling beside Edmund who'd just sucked in another struggling breath. Peter was already at the door, giving Orieus some orders. He turned to his brother, giving Dracus a grim smile.

"I'm going to follow the light."

* * *

_"Is that what the detectives say in your books? Think deep?"_

_"Sometimes. But I'm saying it now, Peter, think deep. Search your vaults."_

_"My vaults?"_

_"Well, where else do you store your memories?"_

* * *

Dark hallways. A perfect escape route. But have you ever seen someone follow the darkness? It's the light they run after. Maybe it's a flicker. Or a flame. Or a fire. Sometimes it's the stars. Sometimes the sun. When you've lost sense of direction, what guides you? The sun in the east. And the rest of the puzzle solves itself. The west, south and north are apparent. But what if it's night? What if there _is_ no sun? What, then, would give you a sense of direction? What would lead you? Take you through the foreign corridors, out of the castle, to the only unguarded exit? Oh, it's simple, isn't it? Peter found himself thinking the same, sprinting through the corridors, the creeping night sneering at him, the walls laughing, the flinging doors creaking, the wind whispering to the silent air. He ran as fast as he legs took him. As fast as his weakened body allowed him to go. The metallic door opened, ringing. The door to the tunnels.

Peter turned left and couldn't help but smile. "Precautions. That's clever, Lanin. Very clever."

"You take one more step and I drop this precious vial, High King. But—but if you let me go, if you disarm yourself, give me your word, it's yours. You wish to save your brother, don't you? I know you can't bear to lose him. Your eyes give you away. So, give me your word. A King's word. And I'll toss this to you," Lanin said, the bottle dangling in his fingers, swinging back and forth.

"You were always going get your share, weren't you?" Peter asked, slowly putting down his sword, conscious of the moon's light dulling. Follow the light until it shines. Two minutes. He had to distract him for two minutes. "You're the real villain."

"Hardly, Peter. It wasn't my idea to kill the Kings of Narnia instead. The fool thought if he couldn't kill Lune, he'd kill the ones that destroyed his plan."

"Oh, that's right. But you weren't pleased, were you? You wouldn't be the next King of Archenland then."

"You know. And here I was, thinking your brother was the cleverer of the two," Lanin said, tossing the bottle up in the air. Peter held his breath, and released it when Lanin caught it again. "Or did he have to give you a clue?" Peter grimaced. "He did, didn't he? Oh, poor High King would be entirely lost without his brother, wouldn't he?" He tossed the bottle again. "And I hold the only thing that could save him. And could save you. Your word, Peter."

Peter swallowed, seeing how the Lord was balancing the bottle on his knuckles. He forced himself to look up. "So, how were you going to do it? Poison everyone else in line? Wait till Prince Corin is old enough and then kill him, too? Are you really that heartless?"

"Oh, no, Peter. You see, when men are drunk, they do stupid things. Very stupid things. I've a piece of paper, you see. And that piece of paper determines who takes the throne after Lune dies. Can you guess whose name is on it?"

"How did you do it?"

"Wine. It was as simple as that. And some Sorontia to really ensure he didn't know what I was doing. You should probably go see he isn't squeaking like a child somewhere," Lanin said, looking extremely pleased with himself. "Enough of this. Your word, please, Peter."

"And the letter? You replaced it?" Peter asked, sparing a glance at the moon. Thirty seconds.

"Yes. Do you really think Barrin wouldn't notice that the envelope had been opened? The seal, Peter, it was wax. Sticks to the paper," Lanin replied, rolling the bottle between his palms. "And after that, of course, he couldn't risk being caught. We were informed your royal brother and that Knight—sturdy, that one—were researching in the library. For a _square_. Oh, we thought we weren't ruined after all. But then he sent that bird to Winding Arrow. But, the funny part is, Peter, that we never replaced the letter. We didn't need to. Sorry, _I_ didn't need to."

"You knew we would catch him. You knew he was going to die. So, why drug Lune?"

"Something like that is always useful, Peter. Especially when you can't prove I'm guilty. Now, give me your word."

"You would kill Lune, follow the moon out of the castle, meet at the beach, and flee. That was your initial plan, wasn't it?" Peter said, smiling to see Lanin shift. "But then things changed. Lune wasn't to die. So, you made sure Barrin would. Are you the next in line for his estate, too? You are, aren't you?" Peter looked out the window again. Thirty seconds. Thirty seconds. It was almost there. "And the cherry on top. The Kings of Narnia dead. Poisoned. But why did he give you the cure?"

"Because he was a fool! Now, enough! Give me your word!"

"And why the assassin? Why go through so much trouble? Just to see us dance as you directed? It's nice, isn't it? To have someone exactly where you want them, when you want them?"

"Your word, Peter! Or I drop this!" Lanin barked, his fingers holding the top of the bottle.

"Then drop it."

Lanin did.

* * *

_"Were you always the bottlehead, Peter?"_

_"Bottlehead? What does that mean?"_

_"It means unobservant. A great lummox like you."_

_Peter just laughed. "I love you, too, Eddie. And I understand now."_

* * *

When Edmund felt the sour liquid touch his lips, he almost didn't believe it. Peter had solved it. Oh, he was the proudest little brother in history. But there was something. Something pulling at him, calling him. Preventing him from breathing. Preventing his heart from beating. The familiar figure of death was hovering over him. And he was tempted to go with him this time.

They came in flashes. White, blinding flashes. And he was in a different place. Or rather, a different time.

_Flash!_

"He's dead. He's dead!" That was Susan's voice. "You were too late!" Edmund could hear her faint punches. Oh, he really wanted to open his eyes. Susan punching Peter was a rare sight. "You were too late!" Her heartbreaking sobs made Edmund frown. If he could.

_"No!"_

And, of course, Peter wouldn't accept it.

_Flash!_

"If you understand, then tell me. Why do I always take your things?" Edmund asked, continuing his drawing. The crayon was getting blunt.

"Because, Edmund," said Peter, tickling his little brother, "you _wuv_ me!"

_Flash!_

"Come on, breathe! Breathe!" Peter was yelling in his face, pressing his hands onto his chest. _One, two, three,_ Edmund counted in time with the compressions. But he hadn't nearly drowned this time. So, this wouldn't help much, would it, Peter?

 _"Breathe, Edmund!"_ Peter screamed.

_Flash!_

"Say it, come on, Eddie, say it! You _wuv_ me!"

"That's not what I said!" Edmund said between laughs, struggling against his brother who was still tickling him mercilessly. "Tell me. Tell me why I take your things!"

_Flash!_

"He's gone, Peter! Stop this nonsense!" That was Dracus. He seemed to be the only person making sense at the moment. Because Peter's punches really hurt. "He's your brother! Stop it!" If Edmund could breathe, he would've groaned when Peter punched him again.

"You will wake! You great dolt, I solved it! Wake up!"

"Peter, no!" both his sisters cried.

_"Wake up!"_

_Flash!_

Peter sat straight, hands curled in his lap, a sound smile on his face. He really knew. He understood. "Opened your vaults, eh?"

"Huh?"

"Oh, just tell me."

"Because, Ed…"

_Flash!_

"Because I love him! He can't. He can't do this!"

"Peter!"

"No…" the broken voice whispered. And Edmund felt himself being picked up, strong hands under his shoulders and knees.

"Peter, where are you taking him?"

_Flash!_

"Because, Ed, it's your stupid way to show love."

Edmund smiled.

_Flash!_

Edmund wished he could smile, feeling the soft silk bedsheet of his brother's bed. Peter laid him down, settled his head on the pillow. "He'll wake."

_Flash!_

"You got it right, Peter. Now, what do you want me to do?"

"How do you know I want you to do something?"

"Your eyes give you away."

_Flash!_

Kisses. So many warm kisses on his face. His hands. He hated it when his siblings coddled him. But just this once, he let it happen. Because it wouldn't last long. Death was frowning.

_Flash!_

"I want you to follow the light, Ed."

Edmund scowled, crossing his arms. "And leave you?"

"No, come back to me."

_Flash!_

"Peter?"

"He'll wake."

"Peter—"

"He'll wake!"

_Flash!_

"Go on!" Peter said, shoving his little brother down the small hallway. It was silver. The flicker of light was silver. Like moonlight. Edmund looked back once.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Do you want me to keep crying?"

"But you're not crying."

"I am. Now go!"

And Edmund took trembling steps forward, daring not to look back at his brother, knowing he wouldn't be able to leave then. The dim corridor brightened as he approached the flicker. The flicker which was now a white flash. The flash now taking the shape of a door. He opened it. And he stepped through.

Death gave a bow. Defeated once again. Is anyone keeping count?

_Flash!_

Edmund took a sharp breath, jerking up from the bed. He blinked, trying to focus. His vision sharpened and he saw his sisters first. Both covering their mouths, their expressions showing utter disbelief. Then his eyes found Dracus, smiling through his tears, shaking his head, almost as if he'd anticipated this. And finally, Peter was—

"Oh!" Edmund exclaimed, sure that Peter had bruised his ribs with that brutal hug. But he smiled, kissing his brother's temple, whispering, "You know, you're cleverer than I thought." Peter didn't reply, only hid his face into Edmund's shoulder. Edmund smiled, extending his arm towards his sisters. They joined their brothers, and Edmund could hardly breathe, getting squished by three people. "So, how did you do it?" he asked Peter, desperate to lighten the mood. But Peter only squeezed him harder. "Oh, Peter. You really thought I'd left you, didn't you?"

"Just shut up and breathe. Just breathe," Peter said, voice so utterly shaken that Edmund wished he'd been angry with him rather than be this sentimental mess.

Susan and Lucy giggled, leaving the embrace. "I don't think he'll let go of you any time soon. Edmund, we…uh..."

"Susan, that can wait, come on," Lucy said, dragging her sister out. "Where are you going, Dracus?"

"To see Lanin," Silverblade replied, disappearing out of the room.

"But, seriously, Pete. How did you do it?"

"I followed the light like you told me to. Followed it till it shone. And then I let the darkness lead me."

* * *

His fingers left the bottle. And the clouds hid the moon. Rendered blind now—to last for only a few seconds*—Lanin rubbed his eyes, turning, flustered. Peter smiled and leapt forward. He caught the bottle—not a lucky catch. And was behind Lanin almost instantly. He struggled to his feet, still weak from the poison, and kicked Lanin in the shin, pleased to hear a _crack._

"Ahhh!" he screamed, falling to the ground. Peter crouched beside him. He yanked his head up.

"Now, tell me, who was the assassin?"

* * *

"He didn't say, of course," Peter said, finally drawing apart. "I reckon Dracus is going to ask again."

Edmund nodded, his expression turning grim. He swallowed. "You punched me."

"What?"

"When you thought I was dead, why did you punch me?"

Peter shrugged. "Got you to wake up, didn't I?"

* * *

_Two weeks later_

"Have they found him yet?" Edmund asked, kissing the grey stone. He placed the flowers on the grave, their sweet scent making him breathe in.

"He fled to the southern border. We're still searching, Ed. We'll find him."

Edmund turned to his brother, and began walking back to the castle. "She saved me, you know. She saved my life."

"What do you mean? The arrow was meant to kill King Lune. It couldn't—Edmund, you didn't."

"I did," Edmund said, smiling at his brother. Peter shook his head. "But it wasn't meant for King Lune. It was meant for _me."_

"What? But why?"

"He didn't poison me, Peter. He didn't mean to. Remember the wine you gave me?"

Peter's face turned white. "No…Oh, Ed…"

"Not your fault! I didn't know either. But Barrin told me."

"You knew? And you still—you still gave the cure to me? Edmund—"

"My duty to protect you, remember? Just let it go. Please."

They walked in silence for some time. Until another question crawled its way into Peter's mind. "How did Dracus find us?"

Edmund smiled. "You see, Peter, we have a code…"

"Ed!"

"Alright, sorry. I told Chirp to follow us. When he saw us in danger, he flew to Dracus."

"Right. And Edmund?" Edmund arched his brows. "Have you written it yet? Your book?"

"You want to read it?"

"Definitely."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *You all probably knew this already, but the pupils take time time to adjust to the light's intensity. So, after a few seconds, Lanin would be able to see in the dark, too.


End file.
